Brandon’s Poetry/ Writing Corner, 6/30/17.

Originally posted on Facebook 2/25/14.

 

I Treat My God like A Genie

 

I treat my God like a genie.

A diamond-studded crucifix hangs from my neck when people see me.

I’m so comfortable. My house fits my needs.

My car is garaged away from birds and trees.

And I drive the hybrid to work, 401K secure.

My career to my drive home is insured.

The soccer moms around the neighborhood know me as the breadwinner.

I thank God for what I have in my prayer at dinner.

 

I treat my God like a genie.

A diamond-studded crucifix hangs from my neck when people see me.

 

I can take a pillow and sleep out on the lawn.

I can relate with my wife from dusk until dawn.

My children’s schooling guarantees a bright future.

My colleagues work better than an Apple computer.

When a problem arises, I call on God

so that my standings aren’t extremely flawed,

because I don’t want to live a life ingrained in hard,

like everyone else who wants my yard.

 

I treat my God like a genie.

A diamond-studded crucifix hangs from my neck when people see me.

 

I called on Him to have money, a career, and a wife.

I called on Him because I wanted a comfortable life.

I don’t want my world to have any trouble,

so I pray to remove any hint of struggle.

For happiness, I turn to God in every research

because I want to wear a smile before I reach the church.

I treat every prayer granted as a championship.

I want everything from God except a relationship.

 

I treat my God like a genie.

 

BLM

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Brandon’s Rhyme (Writing) Corner.

Coffin

(Lord) I had a change in my attitude. Back then, I would resort to extort nihilism and be rude.

I didn’t like surprise changes. Old-new news was like strangers. How could I explain it? It may be like waking up in the afternoon instead of morning. It throws me off while I’m yawning.

The old me is expressed every so often, but I want him popped off and laying in the coffin.

I must read the Bible every day, getting in line. During the day, I should put in more time to pray.

And I want to keep the habit. I’m waiting for the time to meet You, Lord. I got to have it.

Heaven or Hell. I don’t care where I go. I want to know if I can see Your face. For sure, not for show.

I used to believe in things that proved to be temporary. Now, I have better guidance. Life is far from imaginary.

I know there are people who don’t believe You. They want a sign, a miracle, and to “see” You.

And I know I’m far from off when I’m far from being condemned and (my) condemnation is in the coffin.

 

Six feet deep. Six feet deep? I need my sins to be buried further and eternally sleep.

All that growing up built up my character. I tried to be on Earth just as an inhabiter.

But I make moves often. I serve God, hopefully to have all my sins in a coffin.

 

And I’m just getting started.

BLM

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Atonement, drawn 12/2010. I was inspired to draw this while in seminary. I think the letter to the Colossians was involved.

 

 

 

Brandon’s Poetry Corner, 8/22/16.

Disclaimer: Originally posted on Facebook on 6/30/14.

 

Even From Flies (Working Title)

4/29/14

Mrs. Miller saw redness on my back

 

And said she’s not having any of that.

 

She called child protective services

 

And that made my father nervous.

 

He tried to dodge them, but he couldn’t.

 

He was doing things other fathers wouldn’t.

 

Some people came and took me away

 

And asked me how it got this way.

 

Well, my mommy died when I was 3.

 

By then, he didn’t take anger out on me.

 

When I got a new “mother,” his anger came out.

 

She left because she was tired of the bouts.

 

After that, he started to hit me,

 

Scream at me, saying, “It’s your fault!”

 

At night, I would lie in bed and cry.

 

He became a monster. I didn’t know why.

 

Now, Mrs. Miller checks on me every day.

 

My father has been sent away.

 

My father had some coping problems

 

And didn’t know how to solve them.

 

Child protective services sent me to family

 

Who wept when they found out I was being abused.

 

They don’t have children, although they try.

 

If they do, I’ll protect them, even from flies.

 

Thanks to my teacher, I have been saved.

 

This weekend, I’ll go and see my mommy’s grave.

 

http://chfs.ky.gov/dcbs/dpp/childsafety.htm

http://www.pcaky.org/

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Brandon’s Poetry/ Writing Corner, 6/22/16.

Stint

 

Why do a certain few go through heartaches?

I guess divine intervention knows what their hearts can take.

Some put their hearts in and receive heartache.

I’m offended because I see the love their hearts can make.

It seems people know what’s good for me,

Where I should go or who I should be.

For some strange reason, that would make me happy,

But God knows my steps. I should tell them, “Get at me.”

Sometimes, I think it’s for hidden reasons.

Paranoid, right? I hope it’s for a season.

Getting out of funks, I’m blessed I’m breathing.

It’s tough getting on a path with a faith I believe in.

I get tired of people wondering if I’m okay

Because the question has already been played.

Folks need to know I may struggle day to day

And it may be for the best if I’m molded like clay.

Just be in prayers that I’m not being broken,

Made into a whipping post, made into a token.

Predators seek the gullible and others not noted.

Get rid of them all and have the news spoken.

There are bits in me that need to be corrected.

I push away whenever I fell disrespected.

The situations that need attention get neglected.

I need to shape it up and be gracefully inspected.

In the mirror of my mind I say, “I need correction,”

Like how I respond when things don’t go my direction.

It may be for the best in future reflection

And the Lord may be doing it for my own protection.

Folks don’t need to worry about me. I’ll wait

For this stint to be over. Now and later, I’ll celebrate.

I’m learning how to drop dead weight

And carry the rest if it’s part of my fate.

I don’t think there will be any impromptu hunts.

I’m sticking to the path which may have new stunts.

I’ll be fine as long as I don’t send through fronts.

Folks know where to find me. They’ll see me in a few months.

 

And I’m just getting started.

BLM

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Brandon’s Poetry/ Writing Corner, 6/6/16.

Disclaimer: posted on Facebook on 4/30/14.

 

Susan

I can’t believe Susan did what she did.

I’m struck with awe of the courage she hid.

As frail as Susan is, she has much might,

had me on the ground for a while tonight.

And I’m the one who ruled with an iron fist.

If I wanted something done, she got the gist.

I made sure I was the man of the house

From the bills to the behavior of my spouse.

I met Susan one night at a bar inebriating.

The friends she was with were intimidating.

I got her number and we dated for as few months.

We got hitched in the court shortly after that.

I was to work; she was to stay at home

And take care of matters before I hit the doormat.

When we went out, we were less in public’s view.

I was suspicious of who she was talking to.

I remember when I first struck Susan in the eye,

All because she was talking to another guy.

My reaction was something she didn’t expect

And all I wanted from her was respect.

I “apologized” after her wailing and cradling.

After that, the arguments encouraged the enabling.

I pulled back around the time she was with child,

But I still let her know not to go and run wild.

One night, I struck her. On the stairs she fell.

She went to work the next day bruised, but covered it well.

The shouting matches were in the living room, her choice.

My views came out strong when I raised my voice.

She made sure our son didn’t hear any noise

By putting him to bed early next to his stuffed toys.

And her family didn’t know what was going on.

When they called, I would tell them that she’s gone.

I also kept her away from her friends.

I made sure I was the only one she needed.

I worked hard on her frail personality

Whether I physically or verbally succeeded.

I came home late after being at the bar,

Mad at my boss and the ticket on my car.

Susan was waiting in the front when I walked in.

With a small voice, she asked me where I have been.

Her question raised my anger, and I struck her.

I was so mad, and someone had to suffer.

I continued to beat her in a relentless spat.

She said she had enough and went for a bat.

I can’t believe Susan did what she did.

I’m struck with awe of the courage she hid.

As frail as Susan is, she has much might,

had me on the ground for a while tonight.

Now, I’m in handcuffs, quiet as a mouse

Because she called 9-1-1 from a neighbor’s house.

She should be in the back of this police car instead

Because she’s the one who took a bat to my head.

Her father arrives, threatening me with a shotgun.

(The) Police apprehend him before any damage was done.

With everything that’s going on, I see my son…

… being held by his mother. His face is cradled into her bosom, and the back of his head faces me. I sit in the back of this car and realize I’m alone, and I won’t be hurting Susan or anyone else.

 

www.kdva.org

http://www.aardvarc.org/dv/states/kydv.shtml

http://chfs.ky.gov/dcbs/dpp/violenceprevention.htm

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Brandon’s Poetry/ Writing Corner, 4/30/16.

Disclaimer: I originally posted this on Facebook back in March of 2014. And since it’s a poetry month…

 

Confessions of a Cheater

 

All I hear is the sounds of her slaps and tears

because she thought I would be faithful to her for years.

Her strikes sting, though my face shows no expression.

By the weight of the truth, I understand her aggression.

Her eyes become waterfalls as I’m looking on.

Her cheerful personality appears to be gone.

She screams statements and questions, saying she’s going to get me.

Her brother’s 6 foot 2, and he weigh 250.

When I met her, she had a smile full of sunshine.

Within minutes of talking, I wanted her to be mine.

We went out for coffee, to movies, and meals.

Her sincere kisses let me know she was real.

She took me to meet her family over food.

They liked me, since I had put them in a good mood.

Later on, I thought we had monotonous routines,

so I went out alone to explore new scenes.

I then connect with who she calls a slut from a stare.

One thing led to another. Now, I’m in an affair.

She didn’t know of my whereabouts because I lied.

She then discovered through my phone* someone (else) on the side.

All this time, I could have kept my agreement alive.

Instead, it dwindled to let my curiosity thrive.

I allowed my body to make the decisions.

Both parties didn’t know about my intentions.

When her father heard about it, he called me to cuss me out.

I would rather face him and his son in a bout.

My control of the situation became a bust.

Her love for me changed since I lost her trust.

I had something so wonderful, and I let it go.

The chance of forgiving my selfishness is low.

I’ll give anything just to see a smile back on her face.

Her brother’s feet step out of a truck in a parking space.

 

  • Edited from “She then discovered I was seeing…”

 

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This is where I originally wrote the piece.

Brandon’s Poetry/ Writing Corner, 2/21/16.

Until The Air Clears

 

There’s so much in the air

It’s getting into what I see

There’s so much in the air

I don’t know what I can breathe.

 

It’s usually when it’s hot

when there’s so much in the air

It’s usually when it’s hot

I don’t know if I can bear.

So I am waiting

until the air clears

 

It’s usually when it’s hot

when filters cover the sounds.

Why not take the filters off

or have it quiet when I’m around?

 

But whenever life cools off

it’s better for me to see

And I don’t have filters at all

It’s better when I can breathe.

And I am waiting

until the air clears.

 

And I don’t really want to start

making sense out of what’s not

And I don’t really want to stop

persevering when it gets hot.

That’s why I’m waiting

until the air clears.

 

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